Chapter 20 #2
The hostess’s grip was a lifeline. Eden’s world narrowed to the feel of a cool hand in hers, the muffled thud of her own heels on the hard floor.
A wave of sound washed over her. Laughter, low murmurs, the soft thump of bodies colliding, and an "Oh, sorry, excuse me.” The air grew thick, heavy with perfume and something else. The press of bodies was immediate.
They moved through the larger room, then the quality of the sound changed. The music got louder, a deep, insistent beat vibrating up through the soles of her feet. The air here was hotter. Thicker. The hostess squeezed her hand once.
"We're here, Ms. Brim," the hostess said, her voice already distant.
She was gone.
The absence was palpable to Eden’s system.
She stood alone for a single heartbeat-long second.
Then the space closed in. A hand slid around her waist. Another brushed her hip.
A body pressed against her back, solid and warm, the fabric synthetic and sweaty.
The music pounded into her chest and stole her breath.
Fingers ghosted up her arm, tracing the strap of her negligee.
A warm breath was soon on her neck. Someone else’s thigh pressed between her legs. She couldn't see a damn thing.
Vulnerability was a vortex, and she let it pull her under.
Instead of stiffening, Eden melted. She swayed with the insistent beat, her body becoming one with the energy in the room.
The hand on her waist guided her into a slow, sensual roll.
She met it, arching her back, pressing against the solid body behind her.
Soon, there was another touch. Fingers skimmed her ribcage. She held her breath as they paused beneath her breast. The touch grew bolder, a palm cupping her, a thumb brushing over the hard peak of her nipple through her negligee. A gasp escaped her, swallowed by the music.
A thigh pressed between her legs again, more insistent this time.
The friction was a slow, delicious torture as they moved together.
She was surrounded. A hand on her lower back, another stroking her thigh.
Both sets of fingers stroked her sensitive skin.
Fabric claimed her senses. The warmth of a palm on her stomach made her squeak in excitement.
The scent of expensive cologne mixed with floral perfume made her die a little.
I wonder if they’re here. Benson, watching from a dark corner, his jaw tight, a fire in his eyes as he saw her adored and worshipped by these strangers.
And Liam, not content to watch, moved through the crowd, waiting for the perfect moment to stake his claim.
They'd want this. They'd love this. Seeing her so free, so desired, so powerful in her presence.
This is my performance for them. She was the star of the whole show.
Eden reached out, her hands finding purchase on warm shoulders and a trim waist. Her fingers danced over a man's chest; her nails grazed a woman's neck.
She was no longer just an object of desire, but an active participant in this beautiful, anonymous chaos.
The blindfold was her freedom. She gave over to the music, to the hands, to the night.
This was it. The wild, unscripted moment she had been craving since La Mariposa.
She was a Butterfly again.
“Oh, excuse me!” That was a woman’s ecstatic peal as she bumped into Eden. “I can’t see a damn thing for this blindfold! Ah!”
Knowing she wasn’t the only one in a blindfold only made this more exciting.
Anonymity was her middle name, and there was a high chance she’d never see the faces nor learn the names of those pressing up against her.
As a man wrapped his arm around her and pushed it up against her breasts, something hard and needy pressed into the small of her back.
Eden gasped again. Everyone was aroused around her.
Hands guided her. The one on her hips turned her.
A palm on her back pushed her forward. She was passed from one body to the next.
No words – only touches. A woman’s breasts, soft and bare, brushed against her arm.
A man’s hairy chest pressed against her back.
The fabric was disappearing. She felt the heat of naked skin everywhere.
Eden remained clothed, a ghost in white amidst a sea of flesh.
A larger, stronger presence was soon upon her.
What started as guiding her toward him was soon a fitful claiming of Eden’s body, as if his goal was to cordon her off from the rest of the horny dancers quickly getting more of a freak on.
A wall of muscle pressed against her back.
A thick arm banded around her waist, pulling her against him.
He bent his head, lips finding the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder.
Eden’s head fell back against him as he lightly kissed her neck.
A soft sigh escaped her. This was it. This was the edge.
The point of no return. They want this. She thought that with a dizzying certainty washing over her.
Liam. Benson. They want me to give in. And so she did.
The man was gently pushing her away from the dance floor.
The throng thinned. The heat was different here.
More intimate. The music was a distant, muffled pulse.
Only then did Eden realize there was only one set of speakers, and they were on the other side of the room.
How big is this room, anyway? How many people were in there? Twenty? Thirty?
The blindfold, slick with sweat, rode up her face.
The room was bathed in shadows. She saw shapes.
Forms. A couple tangled on a wide ottoman, the pale arch of a woman's back moving hypnotically out of the corner of Eden’s eye.
Oh, my God. On a black leather couch, a woman braced herself on all fours.
Her breasts swung from the powerful thrusts of the man behind her.
All Eden could see were the muscles in his naked legs making him move as hard as he could.
The sight was a jolt of joy to Eden’s body.
Excitement warred with a strange, calm acceptance. This was real. It was happening. Her hand flew to her face. She pulled the silk down, plunging herself back into total darkness.
I’m ready.
He stopped her. Eden’s shins bumped into a leather loveseat.
He didn't hesitate. His lips were on her shoulder, hot and demanding.
Kissing. Nipping. His hands roamed Eden, tracing the curve of her waist and feeling up her thighs.
He palmed her breasts, thumbs brushing over her aching nipples.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, a vibration she felt against her back.
Then the kimono was gone. He slipped it from her shoulders. The silk whisked down her arms and disappeared. She stood in only her lingerie. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Butterfly.
The word echoed in her mind. A Butterfly exists for this.
To be touched. To be taken. A beautiful, fleeting thing for a stranger's pleasure.
She could say no. The word was there. No.
But she wouldn't. The power was in the choice, and she chose yes.
She chose him. This big, silent man whose hands were branding her skin as he readied to use her and beguile her into using him.
She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted to be fucked.
By him.
A hard length pressed against her ass. The man had freed himself from his waistband, and he now rubbed himself against her, the head of his cock catching on the lace of her thong. It teased her in the most sensitive place.
A whimper broke from her lips. She thought of Benson. His dark, hungry eyes. The way he would set his jaw when he was watching something that truly turned him on. He’s watching. He loves this. Turned out, she loved it, too.
Her hand moved without conscious thought. She reached back, her fingers curling around the hard cock gunning for her cunt. He was so satisfying in her palm that she stroked him once, twice, feeling him swell to full, breathtaking hardness. Only the best for my boys. She hoped they enjoyed the show.
Her fingers guided him forward, positioning the head of his cock right against her cunt, separated only by the thin strip of her thong.
The music pounded a beat that drowned out everything.
She strained to hear him. To hear a single word.
Anything. Dirty talk. She needed it. Needed to hear what he was going to do to her.
But there was nothing. Only the beat and the blood rushing in her ears.
So she filled the silence herself. I’m such a slut.
The words were a shameful, thrilling litany.
A slut for him. A slut for them. A slut for this stranger with the big cock.
And she pushed back, a silent, desperate plea for him to finally take her.
Oh, he understood the assignment. Fuck me.
He pushed her down. Eden fell forward, catching herself on her hands. Her ass was high in the air, offering herself to him.
His fingers slid between her legs. They found her slit, slick and ready. He circled her clit once, then pushed two fingers inside. He spread her wide, curling his fingers against her front wall. A cry tore from her throat, unmuted by the music.
Too late to turn back. The thought only made it hotter.
Her pussy clenched around him. In. Out. In.
Out. Half the room was watching. She could feel their eyes like they each tickled her skin.
They were watching him open her up. Stretch her for the large cock she had held in her hand.
The shame she should have felt was instead smited by the thrill of exhibitionism, of being the object of everyone’s envy and pleasurable desire.
You want to be me. You want to fuck me. You want to know what this is like.
That was the kind of slut Brim the Butterfly was.